Cold Cases: The Case of Anne Peterson
by CyleFlynt
Summary: CC1: Inspector Lestrade is in a bit of trouble as she gets demoted for her recklessness on the job. Depressed and desperate, she takes up a case no one thought could be solved. HL
1. Chapter 1

CC#1: Inspector Lestrade is in a bit of trouble as she gets demoted for her recklessness on the job. Depressed and desperate, she takes up a case no one thought could be solved.

H/L

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Disclaimer: I do not own DIC or Sherlock Holmes in the 22nd Century, nor do I own Sherlock Holmes. I do own all original material of this story (including Nick).

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**The Case of Anne Peterson**

_CyleFlynt_

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Chapter One

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Lestrade wandered through the archives of Scotland Yard, aimlessly staring at the hundreds of thousands case files that had somehow been cast aside and forgotten by the department, waiting for some kind of closure that may never come. Lestrade, having come to the end of yet another hall, grimaced in shame and bit her lip, the immensity of the crime having not really hit her till then. She peeked past the corner of the hallway, hoping to find a dead-end wall, but the sight that greeted her only served to further drive a pang of grief into her heart. A seemingly endless array of hallways, lined with shelves overstuffed with cases and evidence was there, and the knowledge that this was only the first of the three floors dedicated to the storage of New London's cold cases gave the entire room a depressing atmosphere.

Inspector Lestrade leaned against one of the shelves and softly sighed. "_This entire floor is a crime. These cases shouldn't be here collecting dust when the victims are still suffering…."_ She stood there, contemplating the dire situation the Yard had fallen into in recent months. The Yard was lacking the proper funding to hire more detectives probably due in part to her own recklessness on the job, costing Scotland Yard an unprecedented amount in damages to city and private properties. Even without the financial troubles the Yard was experiencing, it was obvious the Yard had lost control of the crime in New London, having spiked a third time in the past two months. The people of New London were beginning to panic with the onset of the recent crime spikes, and after walking down the hallway she was standing in then, she knew exactly where most of the fresh cases would end up. She couldn't help feeling responsible for the mess the Yard was in even though Chief Inspector Greyson had repeatedly told her the department's recent issues had not stemmed from her own investigations but instead from a steady decline in funding venues. She didn't believe him, but she hadn't argued when he had removed her from all new cases coming into the Yard two months ago and sliced her patrols down to mere lunch runs as she was loaded down with desk work. This was all the evidence she needed to nurse her sneaking suspicion that he was only telling her this because he felt that he was ultimately responsible for all the actions of his subordinates.

Lestrade sighed once again, and leaned her head back against the shelf, bumping into a random folder that was jutting haphazardly out of the shelf. Turning around, she pulled out the file and blew away six years of dust that had collected on top of the case folder. Opening the file, she glanced over a roughly formed abstract report on the case and condition of the victim, Anne Peterson.

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Lestrade dropped a file on Chief Inspector Greyson's desk, a determined look set upon her face as she blurted impatiently, "I want this case!" She sharply inhaled and began to agitatedly pace in front of his desk, already dreading the refusal she knew she was bound to receive.

Just now looking up from the reports on his desk, Greyson frowned at Lestrade for the abrupt intrusion, but remained silent as he reached over and looked at the case file. Several minutes later, he looked up from the file, and folded his hands, still silent as he intently watched an apprehensive Lestrade continue to pace in front of his desk, her eyes darting everywhere around the room except to his seat.

"What about all of that deskwork I gave you this week to do?" Greyson inquired pointedly. "Or have you forgotten that you're _not _to work new cases!" he fumed, the tips of his ears turning red as he ended, "Who gave you this case?"

Finally turning to face Greyson for the first time, Lestrade's blue eyes wavered just a second as she replied, "Actually…..it's not really new. Look at the date…."

She began to bite her lip apprehensively, watching as he again checked the file and slowly nodded. "So it isn't." He agreed acidly, sifting through the report again to gleam over the details. "However," he continued, "this is a cold case. The chances of you successfully solving this are practically none. What makes you think you can do it?"

Finally finding her resolve she stated, "If I don't at least try, I know it may never be solved."

Greyson sighed at her words and glanced back at the financial report on his desk, clearly torn between the lesser evils.

Seeing her one chance to slip back into her position failing, she promised, "It's a cold case, so the chances of me breaking anything are slim to none, and all I want is another chance." She finally fell back into the chair behind her and propped up her forehead with her hand, staring back at the floor, feeling an air of defeat drape silently around her.

"I didn't take you out because you were an _expensive_ officer to maintain." He muttered softly, glancing one more time at the cold case. "I just can't keep you out of the field, can I?"

She opened her eyes, not daring to believe what she had just heard, and listened quietly. "If I reinstate some of your privileges as an Inspector, for this case, and this case alone," he cautioned, "will you promise me, that you will be more responsible and reliable than you have been in the past?"

Sitting up straight in her chair, she affirmed gladly, "Yes sir."

Breathing slowly, he continued, "and I don't just mean the constant wrecks and damages you cause, Lestrade." His eyes set sharply on her as he said, "I want reports on _every move you make, _something you have _never_ been quite capable of doing on time."

She nodded vigorously and stood up, reaching for the case file on his desk. "I'll make it a priority from now on."

"You do that." He grumbled sourly as his thoughts turned back to the financial report. "I'll reinstate you today and you can start working on it tomorrow. Don't forget your other duties."

Lestrade let out a silent sigh of relief as she picked up the case report and turned to leave. She had almost reached the door when Greyson's voice rang out, "One more thing. Send that antique of yours to my office when he comes in for lunch."

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"Case Number: 117932-661. Victim: Anne Peterson. Cause of death: Homicide --- Caffeine Poisoning. Age at the time of death: 4 years, 2 months. Parents: Helena and Jonathon Peterson." Elizabeth Lestrade listed as she poked the lunch Watson had made for her with a fork, not having bothered to take a bite since it had been placed in front of her.

Holmes, sitting across her desk sampling his own plate, looked up and smiled, "Eager are we?"

Lestrade playfully stuck her tongue out at him and replied, "Yes I am." She grinned another moment before asking, "Is it that obvious?"

Holmes chuckled and instead of directly answering her, speculated, "I suppose you'll want to do this one alone?"

Lestrade, nibbling on her biscuit, hurriedly swallowed and answered, "I _need_ to do this one alone. This is probably my one chance to prove I can handle a case without bankrupting the Yard."

"I understand," Holmes nodded, "though I don't believe the Yard's problems stem solely from your actions."

Lestrade sighed softly and looked towards the wall that she had often wished was a window, "Perhaps so, but I certainly helped it on its way." She stopped a moment, and looked back at Holmes with an odd look on her face. "So what does Greyson want with you?" she asked, truly intrigued.

Holmes furrowed his brows a moment and then looked up, "I suppose that means he wants to see me?" Lestrade merely nodded thoughtfully, awaiting an answer. Holmes averted his gaze a moment before replying, "I can only imagine he wishes to speak with me about my _consultation fees_."

Lestrade dropped her fork and winced, "Oh…"

"You needn't worry, Lestrade." Holmes quickly reasoned. "I already have several private cases lined up. If I depended on the Yard for all my income, I'd have been forced out on the streets by now." Holmes, seeing the defeat labeling Lestrade's face, added thoughtfully, "When the Yard recovers, my work here will too."

Lestrade picked up her fork again and began to poke the cold pasta, trying not to think of the numbers she had seen on the financial report and how long it might actually take.

Holmes sensing the change in mood quickly crossed his arms and sternly chided, "Stop playing with your food Lestrade. You know how upset Watson will be if he gets here and you've barely touched your plate."

She let out an exasperated sigh and quickly began to unceremoniously shovel the pasta onto her fork. "You know, we won't be able to do this so often once I really start on this case." She asserted between mouthfuls.

Holmes leaned forward and smiled, a playful glint in his eyes, "I had thought of that and I must admit; I rather enjoy our lunch dates…perhaps we could meet elsewhere for lunch every now and again?"

Lestrade froze, fork halfway out of the pasta, and incredulously echoed, "Dates?"

Holmes chuckled softly, a habit he had often found himself doing around Lestrade more and more, "Now Lestrade. You wouldn't deny an old man one of his few remaining pleasures in life?"

Lestrade thought for a moment, and then sarcastically joked, "I guess bumbling American oafs are your type?"

"Balderdash!" He exclaimed, acting as if he was taken aback. "Rather intelligent conversations with a fascinating lady."

Lestrade sat agape, almost in disbelief of what she had just heard, so contrary to Watson's journals, yet somehow a believable aspect of the man she had somehow befriended.

Holmes leaned back in his chair, still a playful smile upon his lips and curled his fingers against his chin, in a classic thinking posture. "Not quite the yes I was looking for," he started, "but I suppose…"

"Yes!" Lestrade chimed, snapping back to attention.

Holmes shook his head, and finished thoughtfully, "even if it isn't a date, I would sorely miss our time spent together."

Lestrade leaned towards him, and smiled, "_You_ can consider it a date."

-----

Watson walked towards the robotic maintenance offices of the Yard, purposely taking the least efficient route. Lately, it had become more and more difficult for him to continue his scheduled upgrades and routine repairs.

He rounded another corner and purposely slowed down. To him, it didn't matter how many times he had made this journey before; the memories gave him little comfort. This maintenance, it just felt….unnatural, and yet, he knew it wasn't always this way.

Having finally arrived at his destination, Watson paused a moment facing the door before punching in a code and continuing inside. A thin, short, grey-haired man sat across the room, in a ragged swivel chair, running diagnostics on another police robot in disrepair. Watson felt a stab of anxiety; or rather what he assumed must be anxiety, from how others had described it.

The old gent turned around in his chair and gave Watson a broad smile. Watson reciprocated the gesture, though he certainly wasn't as happy to see him.

"Watson! My favorite bot! Come on in and get ready." The old man called from his chair, already turning around to retrieve a few tools to use.

Walking over to one of the few remaining hubs not already full, Watson replied shakily, "Everything looks great in here…"

The old man's smile slightly faded, but he managed to cling to it as he said, "Yes, not as good as the old days, but ah, who wants to hear of them?" He turned around to face Watson and lifted his brow. "Mind taking the baggage off?"

At first confused and uncertain, it only took Watson a few microseconds to realize the meaning behind the words. He slowly walked over to a broken spare chair and removed his elastomask and black trench coat, suppressing a strange urge to shiver.

He looked down upon the articles of clothing, and at his bare metallic arms, an ultimate reminder of his true form. Even in the face of his physical self, he still felt naked without his clothing, stripped and ashamed. Turning around, he walked back to the hub, apprehension not capable of showing without his mask. A quick scan, a relatively fast upload, and without any extenuating circumstances, he'd be back out. "_Five or ten minutes…just five or ten minutes…_"

The old mechanic strolled slowly around Watson, taking in every detail of his frame. Finally, stopping at Watson's own input hub, he began to use his tools to carefully clean the connection prongs and chisel the caked grime away from his more delicate grooves. "You haven't been keeping too clean I see." He mentioned sourly as he reached for a smaller pick. "Experienced any new emotions since last time?"

For the first time since he had been stripped of his humanity, Watson was glad his emotions could not be visible. "None at all." He answered tersely. Only once had he mentioned an emotion to his mechanic, and afterwards, he had sworn it would be the last. The old man figured it might have been a symptom of a degenerative behavior core and had for a while, wanted to completely reformat him. The fear of being mind wiped by the Sussex vampire had been minimal compared to the horror he felt towards total reformatting. Though he did feel a little guilt from the deceit, he rationalized that all the emotions he had felt were not new at all, and were formed prior to his first conversation with the mechanic. "_Not quite a lie,_" he mused to himself, "_but was it really the truth?_"

The old man yawned and stretched, replacing his tools with a connector. "Alrighty! Upgrade time. See you in a few."

The lights appeared to have flickered in the room, but Watson knew it was over. His offensive and defensive protocols had been upgraded, and as he checked his memory core, he found a new set of late night patrol directives. He then checked the time he had been out; a full sixteen minutes. "Why did my upgrade take so long Nick? Did something happen?" he politely inquired, being sure to keep any simulated concern out of his voice.

"Eh, just annual diagnostics and a quick internal checkup. It's your month." Nick smiled back, polishing his equipment with an old cloth. "Tell the Inspector I said hey, okay? I never see her down here anymore."

"Of course, Nick." Watson replied formally as he picked up his trench coat and mask, slipping them on in two quick moves. "I'll see you in another month."

The old man nodded, already continuing to work on the other Yard robot, which appeared beyond repair. "Just try to keep clean."

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A/N: Ah yes, my dreadful three page long author's notes… This is actually the first installment of a series (Cold Cases) I've been planning on making all summer. I've fiddled with the idea in my head and have managed to write and type plenty of ideas and goals for this series, including following cases and adventures. Don't expect me to release the chapters too quickly, because I would like for them all to be as well written as possible. I hope you will all enjoy this story and the ones I am planning on writing in the future.


	2. Chapter 2

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Chapter Two

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Lestrade sat alone in her office fumbling with the never-ending piles of deskwork she had been assigned. It had been just a day since her last lunch with Holmes, one that had been blazed into her memory, and she was no closer to being on an actual case than she had been only twenty-four hours before. She released another tired sigh and reached for the next random file. It was another arbitrary form that needed to be completed and sent somewhere for a round of useless processing procedures. Already her eyes had grown heavy and tired and her attention span was found to be lacking. Miserable and exhausted from the humdrum of her office, she muttered crossly under her breath, "Grayson must have known I couldn't handle a case _and _all my workload….I couldn't even handle the workload on time before the Case!" Dropping the file on her desk, she leaned back in her chair and closed her heavy lids, biting her lip as she began to think to herself.

Anyone passing by might have considered her asleep if not for the rhythmic drumming of her fingernails upon her desk. After a moment, she opened her eyes again and began to truly survey her surroundings, resting her hand on the file she had so recklessly dropped before. "I really need to get organized…" she realized as she looked upon the state of disorder that was the norm of her office. Her desk was covered in a large chaotic mess of files, where a stack had tipped over, leaving the files lying everywhere across its metallic surface, and scattered around the floor. The original stack of files that she had been working on for what seemed like weeks sat on the floor next to her desk. Her lone mug of coffee sat silently upon the wreckage, a cold and caffeinated sentinel to her office-space. Across the room, other files and records protruded from various shelves, adding to the overall feeling of clutter to the room. The one object in the room that appeared to be completely out of place remained Holmes' chair, an older swivel chair she had scavenged from a retiring coworker's office. The chair was uncluttered, free of dust, and for the moment, empty.

She laughed aloud momentarily and walked over to the chair, running a hand over the head and back down to the arms. Grinning, she brought her hands up to cover her mouth and admitted cheerfully to herself, "I don't know how he's managed to actually keep this chair this clean, with me practically living here." She looked out of the corner of her eyes at the digital clock on the wall and nodded to herself. Walking back over to her desk, she began to sort through the files one by one by one.

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Lestrade peeked around yet another corner. Her head rested on a white and grey wall and tucked under her left arm was an electronic pad of some sorts. Listening another minute to the echoes of the hallway, she was assured that it was indeed safe to cross. Breaking into a brisk jog, she finally came to the door she had been so determined to find. She knocked a familiar rhythm, not even bothering to punch any numbers into the keypad. Within seconds she could hear footsteps nearing the door, followed by a slow hissing sound as the door slid open to reveal an old man in a mechanic's uniform. "Inspector!" He exclaimed cheerfully. "Come in, come in!"

She stepped into the old robotics maintenance lab and immediately began to look around, examining every detail of the lab. "I think you'll find things much like they were the last time you were down, Elizabeth." He announced as he began to walk back to his own cluttered desk. His tools were laid everywhere upon it, immaculate yet in an orderly chaos while broken robotic parts lay strewn across the room and in various hubs. An older model traffic-bot was slumped against the wall, its frame mangled beyond repair, and another unrecognizable frame lay on the floor next to it. A fresh order of parts hovered in the corner, still unopened. "Find yourself a seat." he continued cheerfully, though his voice was laced in sorrow. "I've missed you these past months."

She shook with silent laughter as she walked over one of the hovering crates, slowly pushing it over towards the desk. "Missed me, or the mounds of work I bring in tow?" she playfully inquired, coming to a halt beside his desk.

"I missed you." He stubbornly claimed, reaching for an old cloth. "I certainly don't miss cleaning the…grime off of your ionizers every two weeks."

She smiled tenderly at him, placing a gentle hand upon his shoulder and replied, "I've missed you too, Nick." She sat down on the hovering crate, her legs dangling off the side, and leaned towards the old mechanic. "But, now that we're on the subject of cleaning…" she began cautiously, "might I be able to convince you to take a look at this old state-grade scheduler?"

Nick narrowed his dark brown eyes at her and held out his hand. "I should have known there was an alternate reason for seeing this decrepit old man." Looking at her again, he furrowed his brow and restated grumpily, "well…hand it over!"

Slowly picking up the electronic pad from the crate, she gently placed it in Nick's outstretched hands and asked pointedly, "Since when did you become decrepit?" She gave him an odd look and surveyed him and the room once more. She sighed and glanced back towards the door before returning her gaze to him. "I just avoid wandering the halls these days." She said to him gloomily, her voice barely above a whisper. "I didn't mean to stop dropping by at all and, I should've called."

The old mechanic nodded thoughtfully, tracing the screen of the electronic schedule planner with a dry, cracked finger. "I take it your face isn't welcome in the halls anymore?" He surmised knowingly, still examining the pad on his desk.

"Not since that demotion." Lestrade frowned, staring up at the ceiling in thought. "I went from hot shot officer to full time secretary. My reputation is shot."

Nick chuckled and turned around in his swivel chair to face Lestrade again. "I'm guessing this has something to do with that Bryant boy, eh? The obnoxious kid…" Flipping the planner over, he glanced at it a moment and looked back at Lestrade, awaiting an answer.

"Yeah." She sighed miserably. "It's him alright." Shifting her position, she tucked her feet under her, Indian style upon the crate before continuing. "He makes one helluva' arch nemesis. Demeaning, arrogant…and now he's 6 rankings above me to boot." She narrowed her eyes to mere slits. "I swear, every joke he comes up with seems to be about me these days!" She let out an annoyed breath and paused a moment. As she looked back at Nick, her face changed to a grin and she whispered triumphantly, "Don't tell anyone, but I just got partially reinstated for a cold case from Section 11. I may be back in my hovercar before we know it."

"And I back to cleaning your ionizers." Nick responded wistfully, staring up at the ceiling above in mock elation. A second later he shook his head and pushed himself away from the desk. Turning to face her, he sincerely said, "Congratulations, Elizabeth. You don't deserve to be stuck behind a desk like me all day."

"So, what's the prognosis?" She smiled sweetly at him.

"In need of serious cleaning, as usual, and," he paused a moment, "there's a gash in the screen --- and I don't want to know how you did it, but the frame appears to be falling off…" He reached for a jar of cleaning solution made specifically for electronics and a long synthetic brush. "If there's anything internally wrong, I'll know soon enough." He began opening the jar as he finished, "I'll have it fixed within an hour, maybe less, but I can't replace the screen. I don't have the money for it down here anymore."

Lestrade nodded twice and clasped her hands together. "As long as it works."

He dipped the brush in the solution and began to run the brush over the pad. He worked quietly, with Lestrade silently watching him for several minutes. Clearing his throat, he set the brush aside as he wondered aloud, "So, are the rumors true?" He reached for a small tool, and slowly popped the pad open.

"Rumors?" Lestrade echoed tentatively. "There are rumors going around about me?"

"Mmmhmmm." Nick slowly affirmed, picking up another tool to test the connections. "They say that some private detective has taken a fancy to you! A Holmes fellow, I hear." He raised an eyebrow at his testing results, and began to forage for another tool.

"Umm," Lestrade started, "well…who started these rumors?" Her face tensed as she began to bite her lip.

The old mechanic shrugged and having found his next instrument, he began to measure each individual connection. "They say," he continued, ignoring her question, "that he comes by your office sometimes three times a week." He eyed her from the corner of his eyes as he continued darkly. "Trust me, Elizabeth. That kind of effort from any man is not just to keep in touch."

She laughed softly and smiled at him, finally choosing to answer, "You know, I really can't say." She glanced over at him again with a pondering expression of her own. "He's unreadable and that grey line between friends is…too grey. Ask me again someday."

Slowly soldering a chipped connector back into place, Nick nodded slowly. A minute later, he was finished. He spun slowly around in his chair to face Lestrade and stiffly stated, "If those are his intentions, tell him to come see me first. I would like to meet this man interested in my granddaughter."

"Oh." she mustered, just having realized the direction of the conversation. "So that's what this is about." Her eyes trailed to the digital pictures standing upon his desk. He certainly wasn't her grandfather, but over the years working in the Yard, he had become her unofficial adoptive grandpa, always concerned for her and always lending a kind word. Being the only of her family to leave America, she was grateful for being included in his close-knit family. "I'll drag him down next time he's here, okay grandpa?" She promised him.

"Good." He replied, cheerful again. "I'll just pop this back together and see about sealing the frame." He reached for a few clamps and his industrial strength electronics sealant. "In the meantime," he mentioned, "Log into my computer, same access code and password, as always, and look up the location of LEJ3 for me, alright?"

Lestrade's eyes glistened with curiosity as she silently hopped off the crate. After pushing the hovering crate back to the corner, she stepped up to the massive console, and input the information. A massive holographic map of the facility displayed behind her with a pulsing green sphere glowing near the mess hall.

"Ah…so Bryant is having lunch," Nick pointed out knowingly. "It would appear, Elizabeth, that you are in luck." He smiled at Lestrade and handed her the electronic schedule planner back. "Don't be a stranger, and please give Matthias a call. He's been trying to get up with you for a couple of weeks now."

Clutching the pad with both arms, she beamed back and nodded at Nick. "Thanks Grandpa! I better run!"

---

Lestrade lightly placed the electronic pad on her newly cleaned desk and immediately hooked it up to her main console. Within minutes she had completed the proper registration and downloaded one of her favorite encryption programs. The final step, user name and password, awaited her input. She sat a moment, staring up at the pale white ceiling, attempting to pull some form of inspiration from its nearly texture-less facade. Finally, she punched in some keys and began muttering under her breath.

With the planner finally functioning, she began to slowly sift through the stacks of files, eighteen now littering the floor around her desk. Logging each stack into her planner, she put all but one away. Organized for the first time in her career, Lestrade stretched out her arms and set to work.

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_Several doses of delayed release caffeine pills 50mg --- Name Brand 'Gitup' --- were layered in the victim's intestines, anywhere from 1 hour to 30 minutes apart. Refer to diagram 7.3 for location and estimated dosage time of pills. Victim died at a blood dosage level of 8.42 grams at 63mg/L. Partially digested organic matter was also found in the victim's gut. Victim suffered from cardiovascular arrest post lethal dosage of caffeine. Medications given to the victim for this condition have been identified in the lab results in diagram 7.4 for future reference._

A small sigh escaped her lips. Lestrade leaned back in her chair and pushed the pause button on the audio report. Resting her head a moment she pondered the cruel and uncaring nature of the report. It was always like this; whenever she read or listened to the reports, she still couldn't help but wonder how anyone could write them so stoically. Already she had a count of up to 74 diagrams to look over, just on the condition of the faceless victim, and an overwhelming amount of information to take in. Somehow, she just couldn't connect and time was not being lenient towards her.

She spared a glance at the clock and gingerly rubbed her forehead. "I still feel as if I don't know any more than I did when I started." She muttered sourly to herself. Another minute passed before she finally looked back to the console and spoke, "Display diagram 7.3 and list all potential references." She reached for her coffee as an error window displayed over the report.

_ERROR 3851-011: QUERY DATA NOT FOUND. _

Setting her mug back down on her desk, she leaned forward and tapped several keys only to receive the same response. "Hmmm…." She murmured to herself and narrowed her eyes at the monitor. Almost immediately she ran diagnostics on the case file and displayed the basic coding of the supposedly filing location. Upon seeing the code, she knew why. "It was never there to begin with." She thought darkly to herself. The diagnostics report flashed upon the screen, confirming her findings and revealing several other patches of missing data. The connections had been placed for the files that had never arrived. She sighed softly and shook her head.

She checked her planner a moment before turning back to the console. A quick search was all she needed to provide a list of names of the medical personnel who worked with the victim. "Pauline Everhart, Nora O'Riley, Keith Fisher, Jacqueline Kings." Lestrade drawled, quickly jotting the information she needed in her scheduler. Signing off the Yard's database, she began to input the numbers into her vidphone. After a short pause, a middle aged woman appeared on the screen.

"Good evening. New London's Medical Examiner's Office, Section 3."

---

Lestrade slowly walked through a large cold room. It had already been a long day of work and the chill of the room only added to her exhaustion. As she had walked in the entrance of the building, a rush of memories had greeted her arrival, none of which she welcomed. She had stayed in the lobby a moment, clearing her thoughts and focusing on the task at hand, before forcing herself to move onward. As she entered one of the rooms further in, a strange smell attacked her senses. She stalwartly tried to ignore the distraction, choosing instead to stare about the room itself. The walls were lined with large aluminum square drawers set into the walls and she already knew what lay within them. Trying not to think of their contents, she glanced instead at the immaculate floor reflecting an eerie streak of light, much like the drawers had also done.

"This is not helping!" She thought grimly to herself, already feeling her heart beginning to race. She committed herself to staring straight ahead but soon found herself again distracted as she walked past a lone, long table with a few tools left lying upon it. With every breath, she created a miniature cloud of mist; phantoms and odd specters swirled within them, leading her mind again back to the drawers. She closed her eyes for a moment, determined to retain her composure. It was mid-breath that Lestrade suddenly realized the identity of the stale odor lingering in the chilled air. The mixture of bleach and decay was unmistakable to her heightened senses. She knew this was one of the reason she had never visited this place before. It was simply unnerving.

She held her breath and scurried over to the open office door, still attempting to appear as professional as possible. Upon entering the office, Lestrade found a very different scene. The middle aged woman from the day before sat at a console with her back turned. Her light brown hair was pulled up into a loose bun and though her attire was as immaculate as the morgue itself had been, the desk behind her was littered with numerous files and knickknacks. If it hadn't been for the mounds of colorful pieces of artwork that littered the office beside the files, she might have mistaken it for a replica of her own. Lestrade paused to calm herself before clearing her throat. "Pauline Everhart?"

The woman turned around and smiled. "Inspector Lestrade, I presume?" The woman quickly rose from her seat and reached for a small data-disk.

"Detective Lestrade," Lestrade replied, walking over to stand by the desk.

"Ah, umm, y-yes, Detective." The woman stuttered, glancing at Lestrade warily. "Is that the reason for your lack of uniform?" She asked cautiously, still behind her desk and spinning the disk on her hand.

Lestrade stepped forward and nodded sharply to the woman. "I am currently in between titles." She replied stoically, her face impassive and her eyes fixed upon the data-disk.

"Ah, I see. My apologies, Detective." Pauline nodded, holding out the data-disk in her right hand. "I am merely not accustomed to dealing with anyone out of uniform from the Yard itself."

"There is nothing to apologize for, Dr. Everhart." Lestrade gently took the small data-disk from the woman and placed it in her jacket. Looking up again, she smiled at the medical examiner and said, "Could you answer some questions for me while I'm here, Dr. Everhart?"

Dr. Everhart's face lit up as she pointed to a chair in front of her desk. "Of course! Sit right down. It is not often I have the chance to actually have a two-way conversation down here."

Lestrade strolled over towards the chair, attempting to keep the underlying insinuation from permeating her thoughts. It was not practical for her as an officer to be disturbed by such things. She knew she would just have to grin and bear it.

"So, what may I help you with, Insp—Detective?"

Lestrade held her electronic pad in her lap and began. "My records showed that you were the examiner that worked on the victim. Do you remember her well enough to answer any specific questions I might have?"

A somber look overtook the doctor's features and she stared down at her hands. "I remember all the children, Insp—Detective." She paused a moment, and swallowed before looking up again to face Lestrade. "I remember her and I have all my records to back it up. Ask whatever you need to know."

"I see…" Lestrade replied, pausing another moment to let the other woman compose herself again. "How much can you tell me about the---victim's cognitive abilities before she died?"

"Cognitive you say?" Dr Everhart repeated, glancing down at the portable file in front of her on the desk. "Hmmm, in general, caffeine poisoning can cause anywhere from mild confusion to a schizophrenic episode, purely dependent upon the severity and dosage tolerance of the patient." Sifting through the various files present on the pad she continued, "Did you have a specific time in mind?" The medical examiner tilted her head, still gleaming over a specific set of numbers she had located. "I may be able to give you a range….although, I can't really say anything for sure other than she was delirious in the minutes before her death."

Lestrade closed her eyes and listened, absorbing the information from the examiner. "So, any comments from the victim are invalid?"

The medical examiner nodded and sadly described, "It must have been very painful for her. Even in the earlier stages of her poisoning where she would have merely been nauseated and sick to her stomach, she would have been extremely confused and disorientated. Anything she could have said could be due to the mental state brought on by the drugs."

"I understand." Lestrade replied, jotting down some notes to reference later on her pad. "In that case, I don't believe the range would be of any help." She glanced down at her pad a moment before continuing. "Do you have the name of the employee who originally delivered the disk?"

The medical examiner blinked twice at the question, and punched a few keys on her console. "Jake Whitman. His employment was terminated about 4 weeks after that shipment to the Yard. Any more information on him will have to be cleared by administration." She stood up and reached for her vidphone controls.

Lestrade stood up and nodded at the medical examiner. "Thank you, Doctor Everhart, for your time." She turned to the door and silently prepared herself for the return trip.

-----

Elizabeth Lestrade leaned back on the old park bench and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. She sat alone in one of the few patches of green New London had to offer. The workday was, for the most part, over, and she hadn't quite managed to finish everything on her list. This was probably due to the late start, and the fact that getting up the nerve to walk through the morgue had taken a much larger portion of her time than she had really expected. It continued to bother her how that singular place had such an unnerving effect upon her and that there was really nothing she could do about it. As soon as she had escaped the building, she began the breathing exercises her sensei had taught her, to control her anxiety; none of them worked. She tried to forget, though every time she became distracted, an image of the shiny metal table would loom before her eyes. She knew she'd have nightmares this night, and anticipating those terrors never made the days any easier.

She bit her lip and closed her worried eyes. _If only I could call Michael… _The time zone issue was inconvenient, and she had never had the right stroke of luck to find the perfect window to call her brother. She stared ahead at the slowly darkening park. Fall had come upon the park and even though the park was still a favorite among the residents of New London, the crisp cooler temperatures had driven off most of the general loiterers from the area. It was quiet and rather peaceful, a strange occurrence for New London, and the stillness of the area only helped her to dwell on her personal guilt. _If I call, we'd only play phone-tag again….I don't even know what he's doing anymore…_ Pushing away the thoughts of her brother into the recesses of her mind, she shook her head. As nice as it would be to talk with him, it just wasn't a real possibility to her.

Of course, the fact still remained that she didn't even have enough time to return to the office to lock up. She had already called ahead and asked a coworker to shut her door for her and she had just enough time to make an honest attempt at submitting a report. The Chief Inspector's voice echoed in her head giving her a dull headache. She looked down at her lap to the electronic clipboard she had also discovered underneath the wreckage that was once her office, in surprisingly good condition, and set about to the report. When she had finished, a mere two minutes past the end of her shift, she accessed the main police frequency and submitted her report somewhat ontime, a first for her career. It really didn't contain much considering her day, though it had included her plans for the next couple of days. She hoped it would at least suffice in delaying the next report she would have to submit.

She stretched out her legs and rested a hand upon her newest friend, the scheduler. Smiling fondly at the item, she reached for her mobile and punched in an eleven on her speed dial. Within seconds, the face of a particular detective flashed upon the miniature screen of her mobile. An automated message began to play out with a request to leave a message. She sighed and said, "Hey, just checking in on a lunch time. Call me back when you have the chance." She flipped off the phone and scooped her belongings up, heading to her car. It was nice that she still had one, courtesy of the Yard, though she wished it was a newer model and something she could have considered useful. She had barely set her things down in the passenger seat when her mobile began to vibrate. Flipping it open, Holmes' face sparked upon the screen once more. "That was quick." She said surprised.

"My apologies, Lestrade. This vidphone is…malfunctioning…" She could tell by the look on his face that he was contemplating physical abuse to the console, though he refrained from doing so, onscreen. "Tennyson has promised to have a look at it for me and none too soon. I have already missed a dreadful number of calls today." He smiled at her and held a welcoming hand out to the screen. "However, I'm afraid I won't be able to join you for lunch for the next couple of days."

Her eyes trailed off to the edge of the worn out hovercraft to lock onto a walker in the park. "That's alright." She said casually, momentarily forgetting her other worries. She returned her focus to her mobile and said curiously, "A new case?"

"One that would have been right up your alley had you taken me up on my offer, my dear Lestrade." He shook his head as Watson entered the room behind him. Turning around he voiced, "Watson, did you find my luggage set?"

A short dialogue between the two followed, giving Lestrade the distinct impression of an out of town trip. A small twinge of annoyance flared up within her, but the lingering guilt of her career's history was more than enough to quell it down. _I could have gone too… _Holmes turned back to the screen with a satisfied grin. "I take it you'll be gone for a few days?"

"Manchester," He replied, "and my employer has agreed to finance my travel expenses as well. It shouldn't take more than three to four days."

"Of course." Lestrade said gingerly, putting the keys into the ignition. "Whenever you get back, I'll expect to hear all about it." She held her mobile at a distance in front of her.

"Over lunch…." He tested knowingly. His dark blue eyes closed in contemplation and he nodded his head.

It was a weakness of hers. Every time he assumed that thoughtful posture, a small semblance of a smile would cross her face. It felt odd to smile when in the back of her mind flashes of memories were already storming into her vision. She looked up, surprised she hadn't noticed her gaze had fallen. Holmes was peering worriedly at her before she repeated slowly, "over lunch." She smiled at him, hoping he would not ask why she looked so crestfallen.

"Let us say Friday at noon, then. You can choose the spot." His eyes still retained a small spark of worry though his voice did not show any.

"I'll think on it." Lestrade said automatically, pushing back again the darker thoughts in her mind. It was almost unnecessary as Watson entered the vidcamera's range and began griping about the poor state Holmes' luggage was in. "Holmes, get back to packing." She quickly interjected, "We'll have plenty of time to talk later."

He gave her one quick nod and replied, "Indeed. Take care Lestrade."

She nodded back and ended the transmission. She tossed the miniature vidphone to the seat beside her tilted her head back onto the headrest. She was thankful he hadn't asked about her mood; it was not really something she enjoyed talking about, though one day, she was sure it would spring up in conversation. "but not today…" she muttered under her breath. She turned her head and her eyes fell upon her new friend once more. After a moment keying in the time she put the scheduler on standby and started off towards her apartment.

-----

**A/N: Oh yeah, this series is actually going to be very Lestrade-centric. I had originally planned (and still plan) on focusing deeply on Lestrade's character and the specific cases I want to feature in the stories. Due to these reasons, most of the material will be from her point-of-view and a great deal of it will involve sifting through the data and interviews pertinent to the case. Alas, this does mean that the Holmes-Lestrade romance is a side story (among many others) within the series, but, it too has been planned in full to mature with the series. Translation: the relationship will take time and several stories to develop; do not expect an instant hormone driven glomp-fest. As two very mature and responsible adults, I really do not feel they would run into things in a fast, clingy manner. However, I hope that you will all enjoy how everything slowly plays out to the end.**

**The time between updates, too, will be very dependent on my workload. I apologize fully for taking so long in posting this chapter, as I had it mostly complete for several months there. I will put more effort into this series to keep up in the future.**

**Also, for any who do not understand the social-relation between Lestrade and Nick, please just pm or email me and I will be happy to explain in full (or brief) detail. It too is a side-story all in itself and will be further embellished as the series continues.**

**Maureen: You have some very interesting ideas and insights already. I'd love to pick your brain some day and it's great to know you're reading. I still love your site! I might post my next chapter of my "Hot Day" story on your messageboard first, if that's alright with you.**

**Also, thank you BW for commenting on the peculiarity of my mind. It's a quality I cherish.**

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